


baby, you're a challenge, let's explore your talent

by the_everqueen



Series: songs for bitter children [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1780 a winter's ball, Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Canon Era, F/M, per the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_everqueen/pseuds/the_everqueen
Summary: Later, Angelica will regret she didn’t see him coming.





	baby, you're a challenge, let's explore your talent

**Author's Note:**

> surprise! it's the Alex/Angelica timeline
> 
> (my personal facecasts for this are Shoba Narayan for Eliza, and Emmy Raver-Lampman for Angelica)
> 
> thanks to those who listened to me as i worked through this and offered support and ideas <3

Later, Angelica will regret she didn’t see him coming.

She prides herself on being able to read a room in a glance. It’s a necessary skill: as the oldest and wittiest Schuyler daughter, she has to lead the charge against the gossips of New York’s elite social circles. Men call her intense, but really she’s just good at finding the bright spots of interest, deflecting barbed comments, and asserting her presence. 

The point is, he’s the brightest spot in the room and she doesn’t notice him until he speaks.

“You strike me as a woman who’s never been satisfied.”

She turns. It’s one of the officers: they’ve been trailing in her wake all night, asking for dances, trying to flirt. She’s entertained some of the length of a song, shot down others before they got any ideas. This one grins cheekily at her, daring her to notice the double entendre in his words. Like she’s just looking for a good time, like he thinks he can give that to her. She wants to wipe that smug look off his face.  _ I’m looking for a mind at work. _

“You forget yourself,” she says, cool and disinterested, and looks around for Eliza. 

He touches her arm — not grabbing, but insistent. “You’re like me. I’m never satisfied.”

That gives her pause. She’s never had a man make a favorable comparison between them, although Mama has accused her of sounding “just like your father.” She faces him again, eyebrows raised. “Is that right?”

“I’ve never been satisfied,” he repeats, and this time it doesn’t sound like innuendo. 

She extends her hand. “Angelica Schuyler.”

He bows at the waist, brings her knuckles to his lips. “Alexander Hamilton.”

The name isn’t familiar, though he says it with pride. He didn’t give a rank, either. “Where’s your family from?”

“Unimportant.” The word offers neither explanation nor space for questions. His mouth thins for a moment, his hands fidget; then he glances over her shoulder, returns to meet her gaze, and his peacock strut is fixed into place once more. “But there’s a million things I haven’t done, just you wait. Excuse me.” He winks and steps around her, joining Aaron Burr on the other side of the room. 

Angelica stares after him.

_ So so so —  _ someone at her level? Her stomach flutters; she watches him as he gives Burr a playful nudge, lowers his eyelashes at another officer. Okay, he’s a bit of a flirt, but she can give him a chance. He’s also handsome, even if he’s too-thin on army rations: he has those intelligent eyes, that expressive mouth. Maybe his mouth would be good for other things besides clever turns of phrase. She imagines the peach-fuzz of his goatee scraping along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

Angelica has just resolved to walk over and take him far away from this place when she turns and sees Eliza, who looks

_ helpless  _

like the world opened wide, like the world is inside of her, eyes shining and lips parted. 

Angelica goes to her, plucks the wine glass from her fingers and sets it aside. “Who’s caught your attention, Bets?” she teases. 

Eliza points at the cluster of soldiers. Angelica frowns. “Aaron Burr? Are you —”

“No, not him, the one with those  _ eyes _ .” Eliza presses a hand to the bodice of her dress, and Angelica’s heart sinks in the second before she says, “Colonel Hamilton,” voice all dreamy and distant. Then she snaps to alertness, gripping Angelica’s arm. “Could you talk to him for me, Ange, please? This one’s mine.”

Angelica thinks, absurdly, of them as children, laying claim to their favorite toys or fabric colors. She pushes down the surge of disappointment — she’d been planning to let him go down on her, not propose. It’s fine. Bets has a crush on some penniless officer ( _ I asked about his family, did you see his answer? _ ), so Angelica will be the Big Sister, as usual. She touches Eliza’s shoulder, a comforting gesture. “I’ll talk to him.”

Eliza beams.

Angelica makes her way across the room, the crowd parting around her with deferential nods, admiring glances at her dress, her hair, her breasts. Alexander notices when she’s close, stopping in the middle of what sounds like an impassioned monologue to flash her a smile. Burr, the object of his attention, takes advantage of the interruption to escape. 

“You came back,” Alexander says, as though he wasn’t the one who left. 

“There’s a young woman here who has expressed an interest in you.”

“Oh?” He keeps his gaze on her face, but he can’t contain his smirk. Angelica rolls her eyes and points to where Eliza is standing, fingers twisting nervously in her hair. Alexander’s expression shutters closed. “Oh,” he says. 

“My sister,” Angelica explains. “I believe she wants the next dance with you.”

“And you? What do you want?”

He’s watching her closely, as though her answer matters. Why should she offer something real of herself to him, a stranger, one whose name means nothing? She should say something shocking, like  _ I want you on your knees where you belong _ , but then that salacious look in his eyes would get brighter and he’d be insufferable. She could be philosophical, or political:  _ I want liberty, I want us to win the war. _ But she doesn’t want to say these things, because he’ll take it as permission and she came over on Eliza’s behalf. 

So instead she says, “I want my sister’s happiness.”

He frowns, confused. Angelica turns him toward the dance floor and gives him a slight push. “Go on, ask her for a dance. She’s the one in the blue.”

She ought to walk him over, introduce him. Give her blessing. But there’s a pain in her sternum, radiating outward, and she can hardly breathe, much less hold a smile while she hands him over to her dear sister. Still, she watches as he approaches Eliza, gives a neat bow and kisses her hand as he did with Angelica. Eliza’s smile is like moonlight, clear and brilliant. 

Angelica goes to search for a drink. 

She’s just finished a glass of wine when an officer requests a dance. Then, General Washington himself occupies her for the next two dances. He makes poor conversation — she gives him her thoughts on Jefferson’s rhetoric in the Declaration, and he responds with hums or curt comments — but he’s an excellent dancer, leading her around the floor with a grace and skill that belies his large frame. She forgets about Colonel Hamilton and his fine eyes, relishing in the chance to share her ideas with the leader of the Continental Army. 

It isn’t until she’s out of the spotlight, sipping at her second drink, that she notices him again. He’s on the sidelines, alone and looking rather lost. She glances about for Eliza but can’t find her in the crowd. Maybe she stepped outside for some fresh air? But then why didn’t Hamilton escort her? Every man knows that’s an excuse to be alone with a woman, away from sharp eyes and poison tongues. 

She ought to put him out of mind. Instead, flushed with dancing and wine, she pours another drink to bring to him. 

“You look as though you could use this,” she says, offering him the glass. 

He nods, drains half of its contents in one swallow. “Thank you.”

“Did your friends tire of your company?”

He bites his lip. “I think your sister did.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing! We danced.” He seems to wrestle with what to say next. “Miss Schuyler is… kind.” 

Angelica raises an eyebrow. “Yes? She’s the kindest person I know.”

“You’re both very different.”

She laughs. “Are you saying I’m mean?”

She expects him to become flustered, stammer apologies, but he doesn’t. Rather, a sly expression overtakes his face; he assumes cockiness like a well-tailored jacket as he leans in and murmurs, “I think you could be.”

“Colonel Hamilton!” she gasps, because it’s ladylike to be shocked. But there’s a rush of heat inside her at his lowered voice, and she blushes, and dammit it’s written on her face, the intrigue, and he’s looking at her — 

— with fondness, she thinks, her stomach making a sudden swoop. And that’s when she realizes three fundamental truths at the exact same time. 

_ One. _ She’s a woman in a world where her highest ambition is supposed to be making a good match. Alexander is penniless, yes, but not powerless. The blue sash he’s wearing marks him as a member of Washington’s staff — he’s in the room where things happen, part of the machinations that keep the army running. When this war is over, Alexander will be aligned with one of the most powerful men in the nation.

_ Two. _ At the same time, she’s certain Alexander is after her because she’s a Schuyler. He needs the connections, the money, the status. Hamilton is a name that means nothing, at present; he’s looking for a launch into the upper social strata. 

_ Three. _ Which means she can’t just hand him over to Eliza. This is as much a political move as initial attraction for him, and Angelica thinks of the ways he neatly sidestepped her personal questions earlier. Hamilton has already demonstrated suspicion of Eliza’s sweet, trusting nature. Angelica knows her sister like she knows her own mind, and Betsey deserves someone who will stay for her. Of course she’ll be upset, but eventually she find someone else. This is what’s best. 

(Angelica would know. She’s the Big Sister, after all.)

Alexander is talking, something about Congress, but Angelica isn’t listening. She’s made up her mind; she grabs his hand and pulls him toward the dance floor. 

He laughs, bemused. “Where are you taking me?”

She looks him straight in the eyes. “I’m about to change your life.” 

**Author's Note:**

> spot the Great Comet quote (the Hamilton ones are obviously numerous)
> 
> title is from Rhianna's "what's my name"
> 
> i'm on tumblr @the-everqueen. comments are much appreciated!


End file.
